The Further Adventures of Spike and Faith
by Kairos Impending
Summary: Life as an outcast is made a little more bearable when the outcasts find each other. Post-series one-shots featuring Spike/Faith, with a little Buffy/Angel thrown in.
1. Blood and Ashes

**Author's Note: **Hi folks! Just your friendly neighborhood Kairos here to let you know what to expect from this little experiment. Usually my ships are just whatever canon supports the most, but I couldn't shake the idea that Spike and Faith had real potential as a couple. We'll see where this goes, including the rating: I'd like to keep it within a T, but you know what these characters are like, and I'm letting them call the shots.

This installment is brought to you by my new Claddagh ring.

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"Faith."

Two dozen lean young women turned around to look where their leader was looking, from where she stood over them on a low stone wall. Faith had apparently interrupted one of Buffy's notorious monologues, although, to be fair, this one sounded more like the assignment of basic directives than another ambiguous motivational speech. And the Slayer Queen was smiling, meeting Faith's eyes over the heads of her curious charges, paying no attention to her own obvious signs of fatigue. "You came."

Faith lifted her hands, feeling very conscious of the murmurs rising among the small army of Slayers. Some of them recognized her—Rona grinned broadly, and Vi even offered a little wave—but nobody was stupid enough to think this was a time for reunion. "Well, yeah," Faith replied. "The party scene in Cleveland is pretty much crap compared to this."

"Thank you." Buffy said the words in a voice no louder than it needed to be to carry over the space between them, but it did carry. Then she was back to business, regaining the attention of every one of the girls instantly. "Everyone pick a partner, fan out, get some ground covered. Remember our first priority is rescue, so look for casualties and don't engage in battle unless you're attacked first."

A hand shot into the air near the middle of the crowd, and the tall brunette girl who had raised it asked, "Even if it's a vampire?"

Buffy's reaction was unexpectedly vehement. _"Especially_ if it's—I mean, yes. There could be a lot of innocents still lost here and don't think you're beyond mistaking one for a vampire. Anyone who picks a fight on her own answers to me, okay?"

The crowd's collective sound of assent was all she needed to send them on their way and jump down from the wall, Scythe in hand. She and Faith closed the distance between themselves, but kept their discussion to a minimum. "You on your own?" Buffy asked.

"Solo act," Faith agreed. "For now. Robin's gonna catch up by tomorrow. What about you?"

Buffy nodded once, understanding that her entourage of junior Slayers didn't mean she wasn't alone. "Xander and Giles are around but they're doing legwork stuff. This is all I've got for a cleanup crew."

"Plus one, for whatever it matters."

"It matters a lot. Thank you. Really."

Faith met her eyes and told her not to mention it, and they split up to get to work. It was a relief to part company, not because Buffy's repeated thanks lacked sincerity, but just the opposite. Buffy was a Slayer, Faith was a Slayer, yet somehow, Buffy felt the need to thank her, when both of them were there for the same reason. It was another subtle reminder of their assigned roles, the leader and the loner, the one who used her powers to fulfill a sacred duty and the one who used them to do favors for the heroes.

Granted, it hadn't exactly been easy to get from Cleveland to Los Angeles, considering her status as an escaped convict, and sure, it was nice to be thanked for putting the effort in. But Robin had done most of the work, stowing her away on a cross-country passenger train (she still wasn't sure how), and she wasn't losing anything in the process because she had nothing to lose in the first place, and why would anyone think she wouldn't want to join a rescue mission in LA? Angel was missing. That was reason enough to show up here.

It had been dark when Faith stepped off the train and it was still dark now, but she had been told beforehand that LA was still under a lot of magical influences and the unnaturally long night might stretch on for days. The city had kept its streetlamps on, though, so everywhere she went there was a ghostly yellow glow cast over everything. She walked fast, on the alert, trying to discern cries for help among the sounds made by the rescue team.

At least Buffy hadn't asked about Robin. She would sooner or later, though, and Faith wasn't looking forward to it. _Are you still together? No? Oh, I'm sorry. Why not?_ All the usual questions, all of them asked with Buffy's characteristic friendly interest. A few years ago, Faith would have answered with laughter, mocking Buffy's use of the word 'together', insisting that there was only one reason she would spend that much time with a guy. Now, she knew she would just give a simple negative answer to the first question and try to evade the last one.

Buffy had changed too, she reminded herself. She wasn't so innocent anymore, and she might even understand Faith's actions, the choices that had led her away from Robin. But there were some things about Buffy that would never change—here she was coming to the rescue, as always, and damned if Faith didn't know exactly who she wanted to find here—and she had no comprehension of how it felt to watch yourself turning into someone completely different.

Picking up some guy in a club and taking him home for a quick lay wasn't new. Feeling guilty about it later was. Losing the affection of a much better man in the process, that was very new.

Robin didn't even seem shocked by the incident, and to Faith's surprise, that was what really hurt about it. He was up front with her, as he always had been: "People make mistakes, Faith, and they turn into habits, and they're hard to shake. I'm not asking you to be the girl next door for me. But if we're going to have something, it's going to be exclusive, and if you don't think you're up for that, you need to say so."

And she had said so, of course. It was nothing but the path of least resistance. Being exclusive with a guy didn't scare her, but knowing for sure that she, Bad Slayer Extraordinaire, could _settle down,_ that was the kind of earthquake that she didn't think her terrain needed right then. It was easier when she could remain in her own game, when nobody had any expectations of her.

She hadn't known that the path of least resistance was going to feel so much like loss.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Buffy's voice, just a block away, shouting, _"Angel!"_ Faith's heart quickened and she set off in that direction at a run.

By the time she got there, Buffy was kneeling beside a prone form and touching his face with trembling fingers. Faith skidded to a halt. She saw twisted limbs and large red puddles, and his eyes were closed. Of course, it was good news that he wasn't a pile of dust, but this wasn't Angel as she had been hoping to see him. "I'll call the girls," she said to Buffy, "have them bring a stretcher, get him out of here."

Buffy shook her head, her hair shining like metal in the lamplight. "No, I know what to do. Slayer's blood. It can heal him…"

It wasn't Faith's place to say that she was a Slayer too, that she would have given her blood to save him, hell, she had already done it. Did Buffy know that? So much had gone unsaid about what had happened in both of their lives since the days when Faith had chosen to be Buffy's kill instead of Angel's cure.

Buffy had managed to get Angel's head cradled in her lap. Now she reached for the Scythe with her left hand, and before Faith could raise any further protest, she cut herself on the inside of her right wrist and held the dripping wound against the vampire's mouth. The Scythe clattered to the ground and the Slayer wrapped her other arm around Angel's chest, her lips spilling words that sounded both soothing and frightened. "Shhh, baby, you're gonna be okay, just drink. Come on. God, what does it take to get you to stop fighting?"

The question was valid, Faith saw—even in his unconscious state, Angel had somehow recognized an inherent danger in what he was doing, and was attempting to jerk his head away from Buffy's ministrations. It made Faith's insides clench: maybe Angel's sleeping soul knew best. "Shit, B, maybe you shouldn't…"

"I'll be okay." Buffy looked up to meet her eyes. "Trust me, I can—" She broke off and sucked in a deep breath through her teeth. Angel had apparently succumbed to his own hunger and was clinging to her arm with his mouth and both hands. "I'll be okay," Buffy repeated. "Other people need your help, Faith. Please, I can handle this. Ohhh, Angel."

The last word was spoken in a whisper, and Faith took the hint and walked away. Sure, other people needed help, but she knew what was really going on there. Buffy was sharing a personal moment with her long-lost love, and everyone else was dismissed.

She kept within shouting distance of the other Slayers on search around her, but didn't attempt to pair up with any of them. They knew she wasn't a real part of their group, and that she was an independent hunter. It was the closest thing to respect she was likely to get from them, and in a way she appreciated that, especially since it also signified that nobody thought she needed to be watched in case she had betrayal in mind.

Nobody else was in sight when she heard a loud groan from a pile of wreckage. She dashed over to it as a pale hand emerged, groping aimlessly at the air. Faith lifted a board away from the hand, then another, then moved a few concrete blocks until she saw an arm, then a torso. The face was still hidden, but given the victim's miraculous ability to still be moving and groaning after being buried under this much rubble, there weren't too many candidates for who it could be.

His hair, when it appeared, wasn't blond; it was soot-grey, like the rest of him, covered in thick chalky dust that coated his skin and clothing and stuck to his many wounds. There was no mistaking those cheekbones, though, and just seconds after she had cleared everything off of his body, his pale blue eyes fluttered open.

"Hey, William," Faith murmured. "You're looking pretty bloody, did you know that?"

Spike seemed to hear her, but couldn't focus on her face. "Buffy," he wheezed.

Faith laughed bitterly. "Sorry, pal. How 'bout the next best thing?" She shifted him into a position slightly more upright, but he moaned as he moved and she realized how deeply he had been cut, especially across his middle. Trying to carry him out of here now would only cause more damage.

"The bad girl," said Spike with a note of surprise in his weak voice. "Faith."

"Second guess. Not bad." She kept her tone light, not knowing if she could fool him into staying calm but willing to try. "Look, something's been chomping on you, but it's alright, okay? Buffy taught me a trick." She reached for her knife and found it missing, the sheath evidently pulled from her belt during the struggle to unearth Spike. _Shit._ Looking for it here would be pointless. She scanned the debris for something else sharp to use instead. A piece of broken glass would do the trick…

A broken growl rumbled out of Spike's throat. "What's your game now, Slayer?"

"Putting the repairs on your sorry ass," she snapped back at him, frustrated. There was nothing in reach that could break her skin. "I don't have time for this. You're gonna have to bite me."

"Not a chance," he retorted, but his own face had betrayed him, morphing into its true vampiric form, and Faith saw her chance.

"Shut up and use your goddamn fangs," she ordered as she swung a leg over his hips and straddled him. "And the phrase is 'over my dead body,' by the way."

He was too weak to resist her in any meaningful way, so it was the work of a moment to bend over his dead body, take his head in her hands, and line it up to her neck. She had to open his jaws manually and then close them again, as if she were fastening a clamp onto her own skin, and she even held him there, one hand on his crown and one under his chin, so he couldn't pull away as Angel had tried to. Fortunately, it only took one accidentally swallowed mouthful for his bloodlust to kick in, and she moved her hands to brace herself against the ground as he started to suck in earnest.

It felt different from the time that Angelus had bitten her. It hurt less, and her position allowed her to feel that she was the one in control—which was helpful, since she couldn't count on him to retain enough sense to know when to stop. Ever since she had heard that some people got off on being bitten, she had wanted to give it a try, but this was the first time her Slayer instincts had allowed a vampire other than Angel to get this close to her.

She couldn't deny it was a rush. Spike's desperation and her own self-imposed vulnerability were fueling a kind of heat between them that she hadn't really anticipated. When she began to feel the need to make it continue, though, she took it as a warning and pried him off her neck. She was just barely beginning to feel faint, so it seemed like the right time to stop.

"Oh God," said Spike as she lifted herself off of him. His eyes were a vivid blaze of color in his ashen face, his mouth, red with her blood, even more so. "What did you do. What did. What did you make me do?"

Instead of answering, she pulled the remains of his coat away from him and lifted up his shirt. The skin beneath it was crisscrossed with taut pink scars, as if he had spent weeks healing from the injuries that had been oozing fresh blood just minutes ago. Cautiously she ran her hands over his arms and legs, looking for broken bones, and found no severe harm of any kind. A tentative smile found its way to her lips, and she allowed herself to sit back against the heap of rubble and rest. She just needed a few minutes, and Spike was out of immediate danger.

He wasn't quiet about it, though. "You're bleeding," he informed her indignantly.

"No shit." She touched her neck with her fingertips and inspected them. The bite was closing up easily without needing a bandage; nothing to worry about.

"No _brain,_" he corrected her as he wobbled himself into a sitting position. "You gave me your blood. You don't understand what this means."

Faith closed her eyes. No matter what she did, how she tried, who she made her token sacrifices for, the response was always the same. She opened her eyes again and flicked them over to Spike in a challenging stare. "So what?" she demanded.

He blinked. After a long pause, he blinked again, then scrubbed a hand over his sooty face, which did little more than rearrange the smears. "So nothing," he said at last. "Where in bloody hell are we and are there any cold beers that survived the Apocalypse?"


	2. Every Man's Hero

**Author's Note: **This episode is sponsored by my new devoid-of-roommates studio apartment. And, uh, watch the language, okay Faith?

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When Spike heard the word 'party,' it brought to mind Drusilla's kind of party: elegant decorations, submissively awed guests, at least five out of seven deadly sins. He had no reason to expect he would ever attend one of those again, but he wasn't exactly thrilled by the prospect of any other kind of party either, so he couldn't quite identify the reason behind his decision to take this walk up this hill and meet these people. Buffy wasn't even going to be there; he'd heard that out of her own lips. None of her most annoying cohorts were attending either, though, and there was one confirmed guest in particular that he thought might bear a little catching up with.

The house was easy to find, with its insides all lit up and some tedious music leaking out of it. A handful of people milled around outside, holding cups or smokes or the arms of their partners, calm though not subdued. He saw her before she saw him, perched as she was on the wide railing that bordered the porch, deep in an animated conversation with some hulking tattooed bloke. Was that her type? Long hair and voice like a cartoon beach bum? Looked like a prize idiot, to Spike, but he wasn't about to judge.

Faith glanced up as he neared the house and immediately waved him over, smoke trailing from the lit cigarette in her hand. "Yo! You made it! Get over here, lemme introduce you."

The prize idiot held out his hand with a smile as Spike came down the path and Faith stepped down from the porch, but he was saved from the need to shake hands by Faith reaching him first and throwing an arm around his shoulders as she walked him back toward the house. "This is my buddy Spike," she said to the small crowd, then gestured with her cigarette to a few individuals. "This is Mick, that's his brother, that's Tommy or something and this guy is whoever." The last one indicated was the long-haired idiot, which pleased Spike. At least the Slayers in town knew _him_ by name.

They returned to the spot on the porch that Faith had staked out, and the attention of the others there slid off of them quickly. Faith dropped her cigarette butt and stamped it out with her heel. She explained that she had met Mick a few nights previously at a club and he had promptly urged her to come to this party and bring friends, but that was the extent of the time she had spent with him or anyone else who was currently present.

"Except Willow and her girltoy are in there somewhere," she added. "Man, Red's gotta be the latest poster child for how times have changed. Battin' for the other team _and_ making the whole world a near miss?" Her expression showed mixed admiration and disbelief. "Magic is some scary shit."

Spike frowned. "Who's the girltoy? You can't mean she's still with that…"

"Kennedy. Yeah, nobody else gets it either. My guess? The kid's rollin' in dough, and they had to ask her to bankroll their covert ops or whatever a couple times this past year. Hard to stage the 'it's-not-you-it's-me' speech after that, so now they're stuck with each other." She waved toward the door. "You wanna go inside? They got a keg."

He shook his head wryly. "Not much good to me unless you've settled down in this pad, pet."

"Huh?" She blinked, genuinely confused, then said, "Oh, right. Yeah, I don't know which ones of these guys actually live here. S'alright, we can just chill out here."

It was hard not to think about Buffy right then. She too had always effortlessly worked around the inconveniences of hanging around with vampires, occasionally even forgetting about details like the invitation rule. And she was a Slayer, with more reason to want to kill him on sight than anyone…

…Anyone except another Slayer, he reminded himself. Faith didn't act like she gave half a thought to who she was supposed to want to kill, though. And she had saved him without taking even a second to consider if his life was worth the effort. He reached over to her and brushed her hair away from her neck to take a look at her new beauty mark. She had left it uncovered and it was recognizably the work of a vampire, but it was healing fast and he couldn't tell if it would scar.

"Hey, man," she said, amused. "If you're hungry again, maybe you shoulda packed yourself a lunch."

He withdrew his hand. "Guess you're feeling alright, then."

"Tell you a secret—this trip has been a hell of a lot more fun than it was supposed to be. Not that easy for me to get a change of scenery anymore."

"Well, next time I'm buried under a motherload of fallen metropolis while Angel's beating the piss out of a dragon, I'll make sure you're invited."

Faith smiled and reached into her jacket pocket, producing a crumpled pack of cigarettes. "I'd appreciate that." She placed one between her lips and held out the pack to Spike.

He eyed it dubiously before accepting the offer. "American Spirits?"

"No additives. Don't you care about your health?" she teased.

He found his lighter before she found hers and held it up for her, cupping the flame against the airy autumn breeze. "I'm dead," he said as she lowered her face to it and inhaled. "Health has been cancelled. And you're the one with the lungs that shouldn't be taken in by that 'no additives' pitch."

She shrugged. "I live long enough for it to matter, I'll dedicate my cancer to you, a'right?"

Slayers died young. Spike knew that; he had helped it remain true, on occasion. On the other hand, he had spent so much time around Buffy and her committed denial of impending death that it was a bit of a wake-up call to hear Faith's very different outlook. Besides, Buffy's lifespan was already a record-breaker, and who was to say that her denial itself wasn't at the root of that? He caught himself right before saying something encouraging. _Bloody hell,_ he thought, _I may as well take up some pom-poms and start a Slayer cheerleading squad._

"So what are you going to do now?" he asked instead. "Looks like the Golden State is done with issuing passports to hell for a bit."

She put her feet up on the ledge where she was sitting, leaning back against the porch's supporting post. "Back to Cleveland," she said, evidently resigned to the fact. "Should be better, though. They're buying me my own house, and—"

Spike coughed out a mouthful of smoke. "Hold fast there, pet. A _house?"_

"Yeah." She grinned at his astonishment. "Like, I guess Angel thought ahead a little bit before he trashed his law firm, and he funneled a bunch of cash into untraceable accounts. So there's some actual, non-Watcher-related warrior funding, for once. And since I'm the one in the Slayer-on-the-Hellmouth gig right now, he said I should have an HQ. Probably just so his team has a place to crash when they're in town, but hey. Still a pretty sweet deal, huh?"

"Sweet as they come. Funny, he didn't make me any offers like that."

She cocked her head and peered at him with an inquisitive half-smile. "What is it with the two of you? Nah, on second thought, don't tell me. Probably like a two-hundred year long story, right?"

"I'm not _that _old." He took a drag from his cigarette. "What is it with you and Buffy, for that matter?"

"Whoa." She held out her palm to halt his speech, but she laughed as she did it, confident in her armor of cynicism. "How about we don't go there? I know I got a history with B, but we called it quits on the Tom and Jerry crap a couple years ago. Not her fault she's the one true fuckin' love of every man who lays eyes on her."

Spike shot her a glare. Talking to people had been so much easier when he didn't care if they lived or died. Someone gave him lip, he could always just murder some respect into them and feel better for it at the end of the day. The chip had taken his self-esteem down considerably and the soul wasn't helping much in that area either. "I died for her," he said. "Doesn't mean she was my one true love."

Faith didn't seem perturbed by his intensity. "Good," she said. "Who needs that kinda headache anyway?" She fixed him with a level gaze, and he found himself examining her features and the signals given off by her body's languid poise. The first time he had met her, she had been wearing a stolen set of eyes, but the look in them had been her own: defiant, seductive, rash. All of that was gone now. She looked better in her own body, he thought, finally at ease with her real self, but getting there must have been hard on her. There was little enough left for her to defy, and if she chose to seduce anyone from hereon in, it would be an effortless exercise, with the outcome hardly of any interest to her.

Abruptly she changed the subject—point in case. "So what about you? Where are you gonna go?"

"Haven't really thought about it." He was almost amused to reflect that that was the honest truth. It wasn't as if he hadn't had time to think about it, but the options that tempted him were an empty set, so there hadn't been much call for careful consideration. "Wait for someone else to try to turn me into a hero again, I s'ppose."

"Come to Cleveland."

There was no need to ask for clarification. She had said it intentionally; he had heard it accurately. It wasn't a plea or a command, just an invitation, so he answered in the same forthright manner. "Why?"

She rolled her shoulders, ashing her cigarette into the yard as she did. "Shits and giggles. Stuff to kill. Latest hotspot for your only friends in this cruel hard world."

"Oh? And who are they, do you think?"

He had to give her credit, she did stop to think about it. "Scoobies weren't really keen on you, were they?"

"Understatement."

"What about that blue thing? Seemed like you were pretty chummy with her."

"Overstatement."

"So what was the deal with you and B for so long? It's just the chicks who want your hot bod who keep you around, is that it?"

He leaned back against the wall of the house and grinned at her. "Statement."

There was a single beat of silence, and then she burst out laughing. "Fuckin' A," she said as she hopped down from the rail, her speech still peppered with chuckles. She flicked the butt in her hand onto the walkway. "I'm gonna grab some brews from inside. Don't let anyone snap you up while I'm gone." Before she disappeared behind the door, she leaned back out and repeated, "Come to Cleveland. Jackass."

Spike picked up the pack of American Spirits from where she had left them on the rail. Two left, and they had a better flavor than he'd expected. He helped himself to another as he waited for the Slayer's return.

Cleveland. Couldn't be that bad, really.


	3. Legitimacy

**Author's Note: **This chapter is inspired by my newly issued driver's license. (I finally live in the state that I live in! Took me a few years.)

* * *

Faith knew from experience that the so-called Scooby Gang's special brand of teamwork was never as cohesive as the front they put on. Sure, they all cared about each other, but between the ordeals that they'd been through together and the sheer force of each individual personality, their internal affairs took frequent beatings, which on any given day might or might not affect the fate of the world. It was understandable to a point—you always fear losing the ones you love, and fear makes you do funny things—but to Faith it was sometimes stupefying. One moment they would all be gathered together preparing to face the ultimate evil, and the next, one of them would be going batshit because another one kissed another one.

Angel and his teammates had a different style. None of them had gone to high school together and it showed. On the other hand, when the trust within that group suffered, it suffered big. The few of them that were even left alive now didn't seem to want to have anything to do with each other.

Putting any combination of the two groups in a room together was almost bound to be explosive. Faith was intrigued.

Like the others, she had followed Angel's invitation to join him here in his hotel room, which came as soon as everyone who was coming to Cleveland had arrived there. At least, she thought this was everyone. It was hard to define who counted as "one of us" at this point, anyway. The room wasn't big, and they filled every chair and then some: Dawn was perched cross-legged on the bed (just one bed, and Faith could bet the theories about that were already in formation) and Angel and Spike were both leaning against the walls on opposite ends of the room. There was a lot of tension in the silence that loitered there with them, but everyone seemed so hypersensitive about it that there couldn't be much chance of real hostility breaking out.

Angel didn't attempt introductions or preamble before getting to the point. "This is the first and only meeting of…" He looked around at their wary faces, orphans of the Apocalypse. "…Us. Before we go our separate ways, I wanted to make sure we're all on the same page and that the Hellmouth is in good hands. It's not as active as Sunnydale's was, but it's also in a bigger city, so it needs a solid team of Slayers."

"Right, and speaking of which," cut in Spike, "seems like a Slayer should be making this speech, not her bloody flipside." Faith wished she had brought a stopwatch to see how long Spike would let Angel speak before finding some kind of issue with it. She covered her mouth with her hand to hide a giggle.

Angel clearly didn't see the humor. "Buffy's taking care of business in Rome, if that's what you're trying to ask."

Spike was instantly on the defensive. "I know."

"Good. So—"

"She told me."

"I'm sure she did. Anyway—"

"She wouldn't just leave without saying goodbye, you know."

The calm exterior that Angel had maintained so far apparently wasn't enough to keep him from rolling his eyes. "Oh come on. She would do exactly that. To you, anyway."

"While for you it's been nothing but a steady parade of goodbyes, I recall."

Faith flicked out her hand from the chair she had taken next to Spike, tapping his hip. "Yo. Is the Buffy Triangle Olympics supposed to be a spectator sport?" Both vampires looked at her as if just remembering she was there, and she shrugged. "Just curious."

Angel answered by regaining his authoritative composure. "You want to stay in the room, Spike, you can use this as a time to practice keeping your mouth shut for a few minutes. Now, Buffy isn't going to stay stationed here. Inasmuch as there's a Slayer in charge, it's Faith." He gave her a respectful nod, which she returned. "But she's told me she isn't interested in leadership on a large scale, so don't look at her for the basic organization of Cleveland's forces."

"That's me," Dawn piped in.

Angel half-smiled, clearly still unused to seeing Dawn handling adult responsibilities. "Until it's time for college," he said.

"Duh." She gave him a good-natured eye roll, and then an encouraging hand gesture. "Go 'head, keep talking."

He obeyed, after one more odd look in her direction. "Faith, is your house working out okay?"

"Sure is. Foundation on that hut is _sturdy,"_ Faith replied, letting her tone convey how impressed she was.

Angel looked momentarily doubtful, probably wondering what she had done to test it, but then let it go and continued, "Got your ID yet?"

Faith dug into her pocket. She had been mailed an Ohio driver's license, which she had assumed would be forged until she saw the official documentation surrounding it. The name was fake, of course, but her picture on it was her actual face, and if the card was genuine enough to bestow legality, it was genuine enough for her. She grinned as she held it out and read the name, "Hope." It didn't bother her that Angel had chosen it without consulting her. For some reason the one he picked just struck her as funny.

Spike looked down at the card with interest. "Brilliant. So now you can get into the good clubs." Then he pointed to the name and frowned. "I'm not obliged to call you that, am I?"

"Hell no," she replied easily, then considered it and added, "Like you ever call people by their names anyway."

Giles cleared his throat—quietly, but somehow it was enough to capture the attention of the room. It had been a few weeks since Faith had last seen him, and she looked him over with a critical eye. Like herself and the others who had survived Sunnydale, a year later he still displayed signs of exhaustion, the mental kind that showed physically. He was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, and he was dressed in casual clothing, his glasses nowhere in sight. Faith felt for him, but she had to wonder why he was even there. For Dawn, probably. No way could the old man willingly leave his youngest in a room full of his former enemies.

"May we proceed with a bit less banter?" he asked, his eyes directed at Faith and Spike. Her first instinct was to tell him to shove it, but she'd had a lot of practice by now at not following her first instinct, so she shrugged and settled back in her chair, her hands folded around Hope's driver's license.

To her surprise, Spike didn't say anything else either. He almost seemed to be following her lead, but if so, there was no way it was intentional. What a weird guy. Probably one of those subs who pretended to be a dom. Was that what Buffy had wanted from him?

"What?" he hissed, and Faith realized she'd been watching him as her mind wandered, and also that she had missed everything that Angel had just been saying. Something about Cleveland's magical defenses. Whatever. That was Willow's job, and the witch was listening attentively—and actually taking notes, Faith noted with incredulity.

She shrugged one shoulder for Spike's benefit and answered in a whisper. "Nothing. Hey, you wanna patrol with me after this?"

"You're on. I think we should patrol at this great 21-and-over bar on East 4th St…."

Giles cleared his throat again, more insistently this time. "Spike, Faith, if you don't mind?"

Spike looked cheerful. "Well, since you ask, Watcher, actually I—"

"You've decided to stay in Cleveland." Angel's voice was sharp and direct. "Walk the beat, fight demons? Right?"

"That's the plan, right."

"Then you don't need to stay for the rest of this. Go do your thing. Ask Faith if you need any directives, and for God's sake don't listen to anyone who says you have a destiny."

The two glared at each other for a few beats, and then Spike gave everyone a flippant wave and walked out of the hotel room without a backwards glance. Faith hesitated, weighing the risks of losing points with the others here, and then decided it was all too complicated to bother, and caught Angel's eye with a gesture. She pointed at the door that had just closed behind Spike. "It alright if I…?"

Angel sighed. "Yeah, you know everything you need to. But, Faith…"

She knew what he was thinking. Angel might have been a friend first, probably more for her than anyone else here, but there was always going to be a part of him that considered her his own special project. It was kind of sweet, in an annoying way, but if she was going to have to draw lines with him, now was as good a time as any to start. "Are you gonna tell me who's bad news?" she asked as she stood up. "'Cause my bad news subscription's been pilin' up on my doorstep for a few years now."

"Okay, okay. Just…never tell me."

It wasn't going to be difficult to comply with that. She didn't foresee much time for hanging out with Angel anyway. The hotel room that she was leaving now would probably be vacated within days, and Angel had little holding him to Cleveland. If Faith had to make a guess about his next move, she would guess that he'd follow Buffy, but Buffy's next destination was even more of a mystery to her. Would she want to stay with her sister? Join Xander and Andrew in the worldwide search for Slayers? Set up shop with Giles in London? Or had she grown attached to Rome, or a mysterious Immortal someone who lived there?

If Faith had been in a position to choose for herself, she thought she might go home to Boston. Maybe that was all Buffy wanted, too. Roots and independence and a chance for some reflection.

Of course, Buffy had the sense to know that Slayers didn't get those things.

* * *

Spike heard Faith behind him before he'd gotten far from the hotel's rear exit, and he paused to wait when she called out. "This is a dangerous part of town," she said when she caught up and was walking beside him. "You shouldn't be out on your own after dark."

He cracked a grin. "You fancy escorting me somewhere safe, then?"

"Tonight I'm just gonna do a loop and go home. I got a letter I wanna get written."

It took a moment for him to find a response to that. Usually it was easier to tell if she was joking. "Sorry, pet, ears failed me. I thought you just said you wanted to write a letter."

She rolled her eyes. "Welcome to America. Even high school dropouts are literate."

Spike was almost tempted to explain the education system he had come from, just to show how little high school had to do with literacy, but the way Faith had learned to write didn't interest him as much as what she was doing with it. "Who's the lucky recipient?" he asked.

"Girl I knew in prison. She's kinda shy, you know, doesn't put up much of a fight, so there was always some hag who wanted to pick on her." Faith crossed her arms across her chest as she walked and looked straight ahead, resigned to the truth of her story. "While I was there I made sure they left her alone, but for this last year I've been worried, you know? Now I got myself a name and address, so I just need to figure out how to let her know who I am without gettin' caught at screening."

It was an unexpected kind of puzzle, and Spike found himself wanting to be the one to solve it. "Some secret code in the return address, then? D'you think 'five by five' is just too obvious?"

Faith raised an eyebrow, smiling sardonically. "I never said that to her."

"Really?" Now that he thought about it, though, Spike wasn't sure she had even said it to him. He'd just heard that she liked to say it.

"Really. I think I'll just pretend like I'm some random goodwill person and throw in some references to talks we used to have. Gretchen's pretty smart. She'll get it."

After a few moments of walking silently through the dark, quiet area where Faith had been leading them, Spike got bored and revived the conversation. "So what was Gretchen in for?"

"Arson," Faith replied casually. "Can't remember how many counts."

"Well," said Spike, "sounds like there was a lass needed a mate."

Faith's snort of laughter echoed against the walls of the narrow alley. "Yeah. She did. She mighta been under some kinda spell when she set the fires, though, 'cause she could never really explain why she did it."

"If I had a pound for every bloody time that happened to me…" Spike muttered. He shoved his hands into his pockets. Faith didn't make a reply, and he glanced over to see that she was giving him another one of those amused looks. "For pity's sake, Slayer, _what?_"

"So were you under a spell tonight when you were airing your withdrawal symptoms in front of everyone, or was that a conscious choice?"

"What withdrawal symptoms?" Spike didn't like where this was going.

"Yeah, play dumb. 'Cause you've never been hooked on B, right?"

He should have known she would start this sooner or later. "I could go to her if I wanted to. She's busy. What's the hurly burly?"

Faith took a pack of cigarettes from her jacket pocket, prompting Spike to pat down his latest leather duster to find his own. "Just sayin'," she said. "I _know_ you talked to her back in LA, and it looks like that changed something between you. Can't blame me for wondering what it was."

"That so? Well, can I still ignore you, then?"

She stopped walking, but just to get a steady flame out of her lighter. She even gestured at him, without looking up, to make him wait for her. He should have just ignored her, nosy little shrew. What had happened between him and Buffy in LA was his own business. He halted one step in front of Faith and stayed there, scowling at her.

If she noticed, she showed no sign of it. As soon as she had stashed her lighter, her eyes fixed on something way down the alley across the street. "Oh _shit."_ Quickly she took one long drag from the cigarette, then removed it from her lips and gave it a regretful look before dropping it to the ground. "Timing always sucks. You coming?" she added as she grabbed a stake from inside her jacket.

She was already sprinting toward the vampire by the time Spike spotted it. He sighed and followed. At least he hadn't lit his own fag yet.


	4. A New Challenger

**Author's Note: **This chapter is brought to you by my new tattoo.

When I started this series, one of my intentions was to use it to get away from my attachment to third-person limited, and experiment with different storytelling styles. That didn't happen in the first three parts, but you'll soon see how this one differs. I understand that it may be difficult to follow, but if it's really driving you crazy, say so in a review and I'll consider adding dialogue tags and such.

You know what's driving _me _crazy? Spike and Faith! I wish they'd just kiss already.

* * *

_"Dammit!"_

"Easy now, pet. You don't want to break another controller."

"How did you get so damn good at this? Have you been sneaking in here and practicing when I'm not home?"

"If that's a problem, you might try locking your door once in a while."

"Or I could just do that thing with the crosses and the garlic."

"Then you'd have to go back to single player mode. Come on, let's give it another go. Best of eleven."

"Only if you stop playing Xiaoyu. You always play the girls."

"Right, and I see you favoring the fellows, but I don't judge."

"…Ha. Gotcha this time."

"Oh?"

"Crap."

"Hm."

"I was thinking."

"From time to time I enjoy a spot of that too."

"You and me should get naked."

"Just like that? Aren't you even going to start by passing me notes in class, then? You Slayers never know how to flirt."

"Hey, if you wanna give me jewelry or something first, feel free."

"Haven't you been warned about this? If you bed vampires they turn on you."

"So screw the jewelry and give me an Orb of Thesulah instead."

An automated voice was counting down the time that was left for the game to be resumed. It stopped at three as the screen went black in obedience to the remote control.

"You _know_ that spell?"

"Yeah, but don't flatter yourself, it's not for you. Angel likes it when all his friends know how to put him in his place."

"Bloody ponce. You'd think the around-the-clock moping program was precaution enough."

"Hey, I can't figure this out—where did that Nina chick come from? Is she really his girlfriend, or is she just helping him mope?"

"Both, I think. She's here? We should show her around."

"Why?"

"Angel would hate it."

"Whatever. I already kinda gave her a tour yesterday. She's pretty chill. Said she'd draw me a new tat if I showed her where she should go to get hers."

"Oh, lovely."

"What?"

"I said that's lovely."

"You said it all sarcastic. What's your problem? Don't like ink?"

"It's for kids, is all. And minions. Ow. _Ow._ Fine, have it your way, tattoos are the pinnacle of civilization. But skin like yours really doesn't need pictures on it. And why should wolf-girl trust your opinion on the local parlors, anyway? You didn't get that scribble in Cleveland."

"Not that one, no."

"There's another?"

"More than."

"Where?"

"You'd be seeing a couple right now if you paid attention when I had that great idea about taking clothes off."

"…You're really serious."

"Spend a few years surrounded by butt-ugly women in orange jumpsuits, and your libido won't leave you alone for a damned long time, trust me. What's your pleasure?"

"Buffy wouldn't like it."

"Uh, newsflash? Buffy's in New York and, oh yeah, not the boss of you."

"Hands to yourself, Slayer. I won't lie to her. Once she found out, and believe me she would find out, she'd be after me with a Super Soaker full of holy water. I've had a nice holiday away from the wrath of the white hats and I don't fancy returning."

"What, she's gonna tell you it's against the rules for you to get some? Okay, that would _kind of_ make sense if she ever planned to spread for you again, but—"

"It's my choice, not hers."

"Then what the hell is that about? Keeping yourself pure for her? Let me guess, you haven't touched another woman since you got your soul, just in case."

"Well. That's not really—"

"Oooh. Who was she? Some chick you rescued from the LA bump-in-the-nights? 'Oh handsome stranger, _how_ can I repay you?'"

"Look, Buffy and I may have gone our own ways, but the fact remains that we have a history, and you were a friend of hers. And a rival of hers. And it seems a sodding unlucky victim of hers, too, so there's too much baggage for the carry-on as it is. You don't want to add me into the mix. Whether it's warranted or not, she'll be jealous, and that's not pretty."

"Yeah, but—"

"Actually, it is pretty…"

"Spike, you dumbass, are you gonna let B and her neurosis du jour decide your whole life? If she can't make a clean break, time for you to get scrubbin' on it. I'm making this _really_ easy for you. Step one: take me for a ride. Step two: _fucking enjoy it."_

"We're done talking about this."

"Man, I was done with it as soon as you said her name, but you're still not getting' the point. Buffy's over. Say it with me. O-ver."

Without the light from the television, the room had gone too dark to be comfortable to human eyes, but the lamps within reach of the couch remained untouched.

"Have you ever been in love?"

"Have you ever _not? _Christ. Might not kill you to spend a few hours not caring about making some woman happy."

"…"

"…Shit, that's not what I meant to say."

"You know, I think I like you better when you're embarrassed."

"I'm not embarrassed. I'm pissed off."

"I'm sorry, pet. Truly. There's never been anyone like Buffy in my life, and there never will be again."

"If you think I'm trying to be your next Buffy, we're gonna have to take this from the top."

"No, and I'm not looking for a next Buffy. But you're more than welcome to be my next Faith, if you've any use for me outside the bedroom."

"You're missin' out."

"Can't say I'm not dreadfully curious about that secret tattoo of yours."

"Yeah, for all you know I've already got your name on my ass."

"Oh, fantastic! I'll get yours on my chest, with a wee little dove and a sunburst, and tell everyone I've seen the light."

"Maybe then she'd take you back. If the light didn't eat you up first."

"And I told you once that I wasn't waiting on her taking me back. You don't believe me?"

"Nah, I get that. Eternal devotion, right? Always hers, whether or not there's a reward coming for it. Hey, you know who that reminds me of?"

"Not quite, pet. Does this look like brooding to you? I'm still prepared to have a bit of fun here and there."

"Sure."

"Now who's sarcastic."

"Hey, all I'm sayin' is, if I had an immortal lifespan ahead of me, I wouldn't want to spend it hung up on some girl whose entire relationship with you was based on her vampire fetish."

"_Vampire _fet—you think she—you've got one hell of a—"

"I don't blame her. Girl's got a devil inside. Slayer thing. Only, her devil's got mine whupped this time. You know how many vampires _I've_ screwed? Nada! And you won't even help me even the score. That's cold-blooded for real."

"The timeless art of seduction, presented by Faith."

"I always wondered, do you guys go into the fang-face when you come?"

"That's right, and then we shoot fire from our ears."

"Nina would tell me."

"Oh, don't go female-bonding with _her_, now. If anyone in your spooky social circle has a vampire fetish, that's the girl."

"Why do you say that?"

"She can do better. She knows it."

"Would you cool it with the Angelphobia? It's not like you're gonna prove your point if you just mutter enough."

"That's not what I mean. He doesn't love her. It's no way to live, and if she's got a speck of sense she knows what she's got is an addiction, just like Cowboy Finn did once upon a time. Ha! She's love's bitch. Get it?"

"Yeah, and how 'bout Cowboy William?"

"Not all addictions are bad."

"You're unbelievable!"

"I was an evil vampire with a sodding chip in my brain. What else did I have to live for?"

"…Tell me this. What if I had nothing to live for? What if all I wanted was to unwind with you for a few nights before the Hellmouth took me to my early grave?"

"Not a fair question. You're young, Faith. You're strong, you're gorgeous, and you've got a white picket fence and two as-of-yet-unbroken game controllers. You don't need an undead playmate."

"Fuck you."

"What?"

"Get out. I'm tired of your face."

"Oh, that's grand. I say one thing you don't like and suddenly you're the untamed shrew?"

"You can get out of my house or I can get my crosses out. Now, Spike."

The lights in the living room never did go back on that night.


End file.
